


Please, Love Me

by ImaKaraTabiHe



Category: Young Justice - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Powers, Child Abandonment, Child Abuse, Emotional Hurt, Explicit Language, Hurt, Loneliness, One Shot, Running Away, Sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-06
Updated: 2017-04-06
Packaged: 2018-10-15 09:15:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,471
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10553828
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ImaKaraTabiHe/pseuds/ImaKaraTabiHe
Summary: Wally's life hasn't been easy, but is he willing to take a chance to try and make it better?





	

The first time his father hit him, he was five. Rudy had slapped him so hard his ears rung and his cheek stung as tears ran down them. His father had scoffed and thrown him into his room, locking him inside.

Wally had sobbed and wailed and pounded on the door, crying for his dad, for his mom, for someone to let him out, but no one came. He broke the skin on his tiny fists from beating the door and his body ached with pain. Finally he gave up and just curled into a ball on his floor, chest heaving from crying.

“I'm sorry… I'm sorry..” he cried. “Please love me...”

He'd hoped that in the morning everything would be a bad dream like the kind that had once spooked him into his mother's arms, but when he awoke his cheek was bruised, his hands were scabbed over and he was still locked in. Hours later his father opened the door, but didn't hug him, didn't smile at him, barely even looked at him. Rudy still smelled of alcohol.

Wally crept into his parents' room, trying to find his mother, but the bed was empty. Her favorite necklace was missing and the drawers were dangling open with the bare minimum clothing left behind. “She'll be back,” he heard his father mutter to himself. “Bitch'll return.”

..She'd left? His mom had left him all alone? Wally bit his lip, determined to remain quiet. He was afraid that if he whimpered, his father might explode again.

He slunk to the kitchen, eying his father in the living room, hand wrapped around a beer as he watched TV. Wally pulled a small Tupperware of leftover spaghetti from the fridge and grabbed a fork before he toddled back to his room to snack on it.

  


Now, ten years old, he's grown accustomed to stealing food and eating it as silent as can be on his floor. Family meals had gone out the window the first time his father had hit his mother. No one wanted a repeat of that hospital trip where Wally had heard a doctor try to ask if she was being abused, but she'd said 'no' when all Wally really wanted her to do is say _'yes'._

He'd hated to see the way the blood stood out on her face, hated the way her eyes were red from tears. Wally hated the way she cringed in fear every day after that from Rudy. That's why when one day he woke up on the day he turned ten and she was gone, he was relieved.

Wally was relieved even though he knew that for every hand his father laid on him there'd be two more, for every time his father “needed to release his stress” he was going to be the target. He was relieved, because she had fled to safety. At least one of them was far from Rudy's hateful, violent grasp now.

He wonders if his mother ever made it to where she said she was going to go. Some sister-in-law's place for a visit before trekking into the eastern part of the States. He remembers how they'd found a wedding present and had sent it to them. It had been a very nice lamp with crystals dangling from the ends. Wally had loved how it shone in the light.

“I'm sure Iris and Barry will love it,” Mary had softly said. He wonders if they did. Maybe his mother got to see it when she went to them.

Wally can't help but imagine if they're nice or not.

He looks at the picture on his desk. The last one that existed in that house with his mother in it. Her face looks worn and tired and there's a hint of fear in her eyes as she holds onto Wally's shoulders. He misses her..

“Dad, I'm going out,” Wally calls as he grabs his backpack, filled with spare clothes and whatever else he needs in case he doesn't want to go home. Sometimes it's like that. He'll dream about running away and finding a better life, finding happiness somewhere else, maybe his mother, but he loses his courage when he pictures life on the streets. He's seen what it's like a few times and he knows that for a child his age, it's not good.

His father grunts, mumbling something about making sure there was leftover money to get more beer. If Wally were old enough he knows Rudy would send him to get beer, but honestly he wasn't and having the police knocking on his door was something Rudy absolutely hated.

He's going to hate lugging home whatever is absolutely needed from the nearby general store, but at least he's got a wagon he managed to build in his free time – which, let's face it, he's got a lot of since he doesn't have any friends.

Wally sighs as he picks up the handle to his wagon and looks at his house. It's old; the grass needs cutting again and the outside is getting stained again. He's going to have to fix all of that. To anyone else, it looks average, but to Wally all it looks like is a cage. He thinks it's more of a prison than a prison.

His wagon clanks as he pulls it on the sidewalk. Wally doesn't look anyone in the eye as he passes them. He's tired of their piercing curiosity and pity. No one's helped him since his mother left, but he doesn't need them. He's doing fine all on his own.

Wally gets toilet paper, some very cheap, on sale snacks for himself, and everything his father wants, because if he comes home without Rudy's favorite BBQ chips again, he knows he'll find himself on the end of a belt  for the millionth time .  He sighs and looks longingly at the box of chocolate cookies. He hasn't had them since before his mother left. He wonders if they still taste like they did in his memories. 

After he pays for everything, he sticks them in his wagon, backpack weighing heavy on his shoulders. He could just runaway right now. He has food, some supplies, a little bit of money. He could just leave. Surely Rudy wouldn't notice he's missing until his stash of beer runs out or he gets hungry.

Wally stops at an intersection. If he keeps going straight, he'll find himself back at that house, cowering under his father's hands, but if he goes right..

He looks ahead of him at the road leading to that house. It looks so dark and confining compared to the road on his right. It feels like if he takes a step forward chains will wrap around him, imprisoning him as they always did at his house.

Right looks so much better. Thinking about taking that road makes him feel free, makes him feel alive again, like he could smile. It looks like hope and freedom.

But he can't have that.

Happiness, hope, _freedom…_ Only people who are loved get those things, and Wally's not sure he'll ever be loved. He's not sure he'll ever do anything worth being loved. All he is is a worthless waste of space.

Still… he doesn't want to keep going in the same direction, doesn't want to return to that cold, void of a house. All that awaits him there is pain and suffering, more coppery tasting blood upon his tongue. There's nothing he wants there anymore.

He used to wish for his father's love, dreamed of a gentle hand upon his head and strong, kind arms around his body, but he'd long since given up on that. It was never going to be reality. Wally was always going to be alone.

“I don't want that...” he whispers into the evening air, no one around to hear his voice crack. Even if no one's ever going to love him, he doesn't want to go back to that place. He's tired of being beaten and broken.

For once, he doesn't care if it's easy or hard, he gives the direction back a short stare, and then he promptly tugs the wagon to the right. It looks a bit brighter this way, his chest feels a bit lighter.

How far can he go before someone finds him and sends him back? He doesn't know, but he's got to try. If his father's not going to love him, maybe he can find someone who will. Maybe he'll become someone worthy of being loved.

All he knows is that right now, he's going to take a chance. Wally hums a soft melody his mother used to sing to him at night, wagon clinking behind him like an old friend at his side.

“Somewhere~ out there, someone's going to love you~”

**Author's Note:**

> Just a little one shot I've had sitting on my computer. Free e-cookies to anyone who needs them after reading it.


End file.
